Hetalia Drabbles
by megkingo
Summary: Some drabbles I write about Hetalia in my spare time! Feel free to suggest anything for more drabblea!
1. Chilled

Chilled

Belarus stands on a vast, snowy plain in her homeland. It seemed endlessly barren, with only but a few trees and distant mountains.A crisp breeze whistles and blows her platinum blonde hair and ruffles her dress. She is ankle-deep in crisp,frozen snow, and she feels a numbness begin to creep up her limbs. She narrows her navy blue eyes and stares blankly into the white expanse ahead of her. Frost had settled on her features, bitter, and yet somehow welcoming to her. I was born into this coldness... And I will die in this coldness... She thinks to herself sullenly, Nobody loves me... I try to force them, but I want somebody to be there by choice! She sighs and collapses to the ground, soft snow cushioning the fall. The bitter cold cradles her body, until it is consumed by numbness. This is the way it is meant to be... numb...and painless... Her thoughts whisper,This is the way I'd like it to end. I wonder what it would be like... to die here... She wants to go through with it so bad, it is not like she has anybody to stay for. It is not like anybody would miss her! She felt tears begin to pool in the corners of her eyes but she immediately wiped them away with the sleeve of her dress. She must not show weakness, for she is Belarus, and her frightening reputation must not be ruined. She was known for being a cruel, frightening figure, and if that image of her was to be changed, she really did not know what would happen. Her whole life she has been a distant, macabre girl, with a equally disturbing glare. She has never known anyone who loved her, or felt any gentleness directed towards her. Belarus has always been alone. She stiffens when a sudden wave of despair courses through her body. Suddenly crippled by this intense emotion, she couldn't stop herself from sobbing. She thought how nobody cares enough to give her a genuine smile or kind look. She thought about how they think of her as a detestable person, who has no real feelings, and is as cold and cruel as her snowy country. But little did they know that this girl felt human emotions. Little did they know that she despised them for their nonchalance towards her. Each and every day she contemplated just ending them all, but despite her reputation, she could never go through with it. This is because she knew what it was like to hurt, and even with her hatred of them, she did not want to physically harm them. She shut her eyes and sank deeper into the soft snow and simply thought to herself. About all of the things that made her sad. About all of the people who hated her. About what she could change about the past... After a few more minutes of this, she sighs and stands up and stride back towards the cottage that she shared with her brother Russia, and her sister Ukraine. They look at her with curious eyes as she walks in. Her skin is tinged blue and frost is lightly coating her body. Ukraine knows that Belarus was outdoors sulking again, and she jumps to her feet to comfort her sister. The display seems affectionate, but Belarus sees the fear and reluctance in her sister's eyes, and she knows that nobody will ever accept her.


	2. Cuts and Bruises

Cuts and Bruises

Lithuania sighed and rubbed a damp cloth over his wounds. Russia had beaten him again. He had come home drunk and angry, a common occurrence to the Baltic's. While Russia was fuming, Lithuania had coaxed the others away and stood before Russia. He winced as the drunken nation's innocent-looking face twisted into a malicious sneer. Russia had staggered over to a trembling Lithuania while grinning excitedly, delighted at the prospect of releasing his infuriation.

Russia was never one to show mercy, and this time was no exception. With a rage Russia had barbarically struck him, over and over, until all Lithuania felt was searing agony. It felt as though a surging flame was consuming his every fibre in a wrathful fury. Soon, time seemed to slow, and even pain melted away, leaving nothing but numbness.

After what seemed like millennia later, Russia grew bored with his victim, and Lithuania had crawled to his room, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The nation knew that he could escape, but he knew that he must stay and take all this pain so Russia would not hurt the others as much. The others, of course, were Estonia, and Latvia. Estonia was such a intelligent, serious person, and Latvia a shy meek one. But when around Russia, both were cowering at their own shadows, scared out of their minds. Russia could strike terror into even the strongest nation, which none of them were. And whenRussia took his near-constant anger out his friends, Lithuania felt simply awful for not protecting them, for taking each of Russia's blows for himself. The other Baltic's were younger then himself, and weaker, and each cut that he saw etched into the skin of either of them, made him feel immensely guilty. He would protect them with his life, because to him they were brothers, even if they were not related by blood. After all, the three of them were known as the Baltic trio.

Lithuania dropped the cloth, now stained crimson, and traced a finger over his scars. There was too many to count now. Each was unique, some larger and deeper then others, others small and shallow, but all bore the shame that he had to bear to the world. That shame was that him and the other Baltic nations belonged to Russia, and Russia constantly reminded them of it. To the nation, giving scars to others was no different to writing his signature, it gave him no guilt to cause others such pain.

Lithuania grunted in discomfort as he prodded at a particularly fresh cut and he then dropped his arm to his side. He felt tears begin to stream down his pale skin, and soon his body was being racked with sobs. He slumped to the ground and let lose his pain and sorrow, crying for all of the torture him and the other Baltic's faced constantly. Crying for the injustice of his life. Crying for the misfortune that manifested itself within him the moment he met Russia. But like every time he cried, it did not last. Sometimes he believed that his tears had run drywall from all the times he had cried.

Lithuania knew that no human being should be treated like this, treated lower

then even an animal. To have your culture and pride ripped away from you, to lose all reason to live. But he put up with it. To protect the others, he told himself every time he was beaten, I don't want to see them hurt like this... They do not deserve to hurt like I do... Nobody does. Not even Russia himself.

Lithuania wondered why he must be so undyingly loyal to the other Baltic's. Perhaps if he wasn't, he could live freely somewhere else, without constant fear. But he quickly dispelled that thought, How can I even think about leaving Estonia and Latvia? He asked himself fiercely, furious with himself for even contemplating abandoning them. Lithuania knew at he could escape with ease, but the others did not know the routes around this place like he did. He knew practically every corner of the vast country, from being Russia's underling for century's. He thought that he could maybe go back to America. Within the short time that he had lived there, he had known what true freedom felt like. America had treated him wonderfully, and the memories of the tine almost convinced him to run off at that moment. But even if he did escape, Russia would find him... And the thought of Russia's anger if he ever caught him running away... Lithuania gave a violent shudder at the mere thought of all the horrible punishments he knew that Russia was capable of thinking of.

He then shakily stood up and wiped his damp face with his sleeve. Lithuania thought of Estonia's intelligent, stoic face, and then Latvia's kind, shy face. Thinking of the other two Baltic's made him narrow his green eyes, and clench his fists in a sense of sudden conviction.

I will be brave for them! He thought determinedly, I will bear all of the cuts and bruises that Russia has to offer!


	3. Farewell

Farewell

Holy Roman Empire walked into a large clearing with Chibitalia following close behind. His stoic blue eyes were shining with grief and Italy's with confusion and curiosity. They had been walking for quite some tome, as Holy Roman Empire wished to share news with Italy. He had a reticular destination in mind, a quite, serene field that he loved to visit as a younger nation. He thought the place would be perfect for his news. He stopped in the large, grassy clearing, and then the blond nation turned to face the other with sadness in his eyes.

"Italy... I brought you out here to tell you something..." He started slowly, not knowing how he could possibly go through with this.

"What is it Holy Roman Empire?" Italy asked curiously, lightly tugging on the cute maid's outfit that Miss Hungary dressed him in. "Italy... I have got to go to war... I don't know when I will be able to see you again..." He continued, dragging each word out as if it were painful. The young nation looked at his shoes, preparing himself for Italy's tears. But, Italy blinked obliviously and smiled in a friendly gesture,

"Well good luck to you then! I hope you win!" Holy Roman Empire felt tears pool at the corners of his eyes, as he was forced to explain further,

"Italy... If this war does not work out in my favor, it will eventually engulf this area too, and you will be involved. Italy, will you become part of the Holy Roman Empire with me? So I can protect you?" Italy frowned and shook his head in conviction,

" No! I can't let you become too big! I saw all of the scars grandpa Rome had because he got too powerful... It was awful! I can't let that happen to you!" Holy Roman Empire sighed and turned around, tears streaming down his pale face. He was too proud to let Italy see him like this. "Why did I expect you to change your mind? Well, farewell then Italy, let us hope we will see each other again." He murmured sorrowfully. The nation then walked away leaving Italy behind.

"Holy Roman Empire! Please don't go!" Italy cried, and the other turned slightly to look at Italy. "Please don't make this harder then it has to be..." He told Italy sullenly.

"Wait!" Chibitalia called out as he grasped his broom that he used to clean Mr. Austria's house.

"Take this to remember me by..." Italy said quietly, holding out the broom to him, "I am sorry that I do not have a proper gift..." Holy Roman Empire took the broom from Italy with gratitude.

"I will treasure it." He stated simply, adoration shining in his damp eyes. And when Holy Roman Empire left for good, Italy couldn't help but break down in tears. Mr. Austria told Italy that he would return, and Italy anxiously awaited his return. But, he never saw the Holy Roman Empire again.


	4. Exploited

Exploited

Spain doesn't really want me, he would rather have my younger brother North Italy. I know this because I heard him on the phone with Austria, North Italy's guardian. He mentioned how I was useless because I didn't do much work around the house, while my younger brother works his ass off. He was also talking about how much cuter he was then me. He wanted to trade me for him. It hurt. I felt incredibly unwanted, so very bothersome. And before I knew it, tears were running down my face. I recall running, as far away from Spain as I could.

He hurt me so much. But why? Everyone liked my brother Feliciano more then me. I was stubborn, annoying, and irritable, I knew that. I also knew that my brother was kind, hard-working, and innocent. It was understandable that he was liked more then me, but that didn't mean that it does not sting. Spain only put up with me because of my grandfather. Grandpa Rome was a incredible, renowned nation, so strong that he had once had control over the majority of the eastern world. The people that put up with me, only wanted my inherited fortune from Grandpa Rome. I stop running, out of breath, and slump against a nearby tree. Tears were falling heavily and I cradled my dace in my hands. Why does he hate me so much? I can't help for who I am! He is only exploiting me for my inheritance! I cry loudly in frustration into my quivering hand. I feel a fat raindrop splatter against my tearful face,and I realize that it had been raining. I groan at how wet I discovered myself to be, but cannot find the strength to move. I shut my eyes slowly, thinking that I should probably find some shelter, since I am not returning to Spain. He would probably be glad that I am gone anyways, if he thinks I am such a nuisance. I growl in anger and start to fall asleep, too exhausted to move from my place beneath the tree. At least it stops the rain somewhat... I think groggily as I drift into a deep slumber.

I wake to find myself dry, and covered in a warm blanket. I sit up immediately alarmed, and confused at this revelation. I saw Spain sitting in a chair beside me, fast asleep. "That bastard..." I mutter fondly as I conclude that he must have stayed here all night for me. Wait... I think remembering the circumstances in which I had fallen asleep in. He must have searched for me... I think, eyes growing wide with this realization. He does care... Spain shifted and grunted in his sleep, and I feel a soft smile play across my face. That idiot does care... He must if he was so worried that he looked for me... He must if he stayed here all night to make sure I was alright. Perhaps, I am not being exploited after all.


	5. Misunderstood

Misunderstood

Nobody ever understood his motives. They thought him to be a insane, unstable nation. True, he did express traits from both categories, but that was never his fault. He was raised like that, raised by the bitter, unforgiving tundra that was his home. He had never known the loving touch of a guardian or parental figure, he had always lived alone, fending for only had his two sisters to lean against for comfort. They were named Belarus and Ukraine. But they never smiled, never showed genuine happiness near him. Sometimes he thought he was burdening them. He must have robbed them of so much positive emotions... He was, after all, a pester some weed in a world of glorious sunflowers. They all flowered beautifully, and the sun shone on their yellow petals. And as much as he tried, vainly reaching for that life-giving sun light, nothing ever made him bloom. He tried to cut them out of his way, removing all his obstacles, but it never brought him happiness. Others looked at him with contempt and disgust, with he understood. He was only a weed after all. Sometimes, Russia dreamed of a brighter world. One in which he could gleefully stride through a warm field of golden sunflowers. One in which his sisters grinned and embraced him, and he cried tears of joy. It seemed to be a perfect world, warm and kind, but as always, the harsh, cold world woke him from his fantasy. This fantasies filled his head with such hope, but eventually, after having that hope dashed one too many times, he could no longer even hope to have hope. Those dreams became little more then futile lies, promises that will never be fulfilled. He began to despise them, blaming their unrealistic perfection for his eternal grief. But little did he know, he needed them more then he thought. It was those reticular dreams that helped him keep his hold on his dwindling sanity. The negative emotions that followed such a hopeful dream, only to be realized was false, ate away at his weak heart. They gnawed at him until he was eventually smothered by them. He could not remember the last time he truly smiled. He did not know why the other nations were so very frightened of him. All he wanted was companions, but everyone he ever associated with left him. He used to live with his sisters, and the three Baltic's, but they all left him alone. Sometimes they fell asleep too. They fell asleep and strangely, never woke up. All he wanted was somebody that he could smile and laugh with. Somebody go hold his hand when he got lonely, and somebody who would comfort him in his occasional times of need. A person to be there, and to care. Not to be forced, but to want to be there. Somebody who enjoyed his presence. Russia simply sighed and brushed his silver hair back from his face with a gloved hand. That would never happen... He thought sullenly, What did I ever do wrong? I have done my best to please them all... I have become strong... How am I so misunderstood...


	6. Independance

Independence

America shivered in his military uniform, rain poured from the sky endlessly, and it froze the nation to the bone, but he dispelled the bitter cold and thought only of the war that he was currently participating in. He was fighting against his caretaker, England, because he wanted to become a country of his own. America had bigger dreams of heroism that he couldn't accomplish while being England's colony. It was not that he did not appreciate England's guidance during the early years of his life, it was just that he was tired of England's large taxes, and his commanding government, and the way England made all of the important decisions for him. He wanted to make those decisions for himself! That's as why he was fighting the man he looked up to all of his life. His army was beating England's by a lot, and victory was almost certain. He grinned to himself in satisfaction, because he knew that he would soon be free! Deciding to break off from England and become independent was not an easy decision, but America wished for freedom. Both he and his people were like a bird, cage it and it becomes miserable. To make a bird happy you must let it be free and fly. A bird... America thought to himself, that represents me well...

"Sir," One of his commanders said gruffly,saluting him, and jolting him out of his thoughts, "We have brought forth the enemy." America winced, knowing full well that the enemy was England. He saluted the commander back.

"Yes commander." America responded worriedly, pondering all of the things that could go wrong.

Two American soldiers dragged a defeated looking England over. They quickly saluted and left as America dismissed them with a hand gesture. America leaned over the figure, then suddenly, he raised his head and glared at America. America stepped back, shocked at the hatred, and anger in the other mans eyes. England grasped his weapon and charged at the American in a fury. America held his rifle out to protect himself, and the sharp blade of England's weapon scraped a jagged scratch into the handle. England then flicked his wrist, and America's bayonet was vaulted across the barren field. England had his weapon aimed directly at his former colony, obviously considering shooting him fir his defiance. For a split second, they both stared at each other, England angrily and America in confusion, as the rain poured down and blurred their vision. The angry Brit suddenly dropped his bayonet and fell to his knees, body shaking in sobs.

"I can't shoot you..." He cried sullenly, "I don't know why I ever thought I could!" The man's blond hair was tousled even more then usual, and rain streaked his pale skin. America looked to him and thought of a time when England would kindly hold his hand out to America, saying how it was time to go home, and then he would enthusiastically agree. He remembered how he used to be so excited when England used to visit him. That all ended now. America looked at the man in pity, his former caretaker who had always been there for him, was reduced to this. America sighed and spoke softly,

"England, you used to be so great..." He then turned and walked away, leaving the other nation weeping in the battlefield alone.


	7. Just as Cruel

Just as Cruel

England stood on his beloved ship, with his feathered hat on his blond, tousled head, and his sleek red jacket blowing in the soft sea breeze. He was currently fiercely reprimanding one of his crew that affronted him. England smirked at the shivering man at his feet. He was one of his many crew members, and he just happened to be present in one of the Brit's rages. His rages were common, and eventually all of his crew stopped being surprised at them, and just stayed out of his way. And that suited him just fine. England loved his authority over the other pirates, as he was their captain. He was known as the fiercest, most ruthless captain that sailed the seas. That fact filled him with pride, and would certainly not change now. The pirate grabbed the other man by his neck and smirked deviously. He began to plead for his meaningless life, and England frowned and clenched the hand grasping his neck, making him gasp and go deathly quiet. "I like you better silent." He jeered as the mans eyes began to boggle, and his face began to pale due from lack of oxygen. The man thrashed about, but England's grip was one of iron, and soon he was going limp. England was finished toying with him however, and he pulled out a dagger. The man's eyes managed to go even wider at the sight of the weapon. "Good riddance..." He whispered snidely as he slit the man's throat. He slumped forward and blood began to pool at England's shoes. England removed his blade and watched gleefully as the blood swung in a crimson arc. He slowly slides his tongue over his dagger, licking the blood off of it in a intimidating fashion, and glances at the lifeless body. He grins at his handiwork and stomps on the body, hearing a sickening, cracking noise. But, his cruelty had little to no effect on his unwavering demeanor.

England often disposed of crew members, to strike fear, and obedience from the others and to help him release stress. He was the cruelest of the pirates after all, and only the toughest would survive on his ship. I must have had ice in my veins to do what I just did. I expect the ice to melt, but it doesn't. It just gets colder and colder. And I welcome it. He thought to himself in satisfaction. That ice protects me from useless emotions, and from being hurt by them. Such feelings sicken him, and he vows to never feel such things again. This is because his whole childhood was torturous. His older brothers Scotland and Wales, and his sister Northern Ireland constantly picked on him and he never had a real parental figure. They really did not care at all about him, and thought him as a nuisance. He scowled as he began to reminisce. He showed those smug bastards! He rose to become one of the most frightening figures in the modern world! One day I will extract revenge from them, and they will tremble in their boots! England's green eyes flared violently at the prospect of vengeance. However, England was not the only pirate that sailed the seas. And the most prominent of the other pirates had to be Spain, and France. England constantly fought with them for territory, and riches, and towns to plunder from. He admitted they were both formidable forces to be reckoned with, but they both had weaknesses. Spain's was that he was overly fond of his little colony, Romano, or South Italy. If you managed to get that loud mouthed Italian, Spain was like putty in your hands. And with France, well, just take whatever lover he had with him at the time. He constantly changed lovers, England thought in disgust, that frog is such a pervert.

England called his first mate Lithuania, to clean up the mess. The first mate gave him a disapproving glance and England simply glared at him in return, daring him to speak up. Lithuania shuddered and didn't protest as he wiped up the spilled blood. Oh how he enjoyed his intimidating effect on others! As England passed by his first mate, he gave him a swift kick for his own amusement. Lithuania winced at this, but otherwise disregarded it, not wishing to extract a punishment from the captain. England often whipped his crew, or tied them to the mast to humiliate them. Throughout the entire western world he was feared for his harsh punishments! His harshness was certainly renowned! Yes, England thought wickedly, and with pride, I am just as cruel as Satan himself!


	8. Savior

Savior

Switzerland walked the streets of his country, scouting for any survivors from the brutal war that just occurred. Everybody called it Word War 1, and it sure lived up to its name. It was certainly the largest war he ever took part in. He was poor, and very injured, but he had a duty to perform. So he searched aimlessly for any wounded citizens of his country, anybody who required his aid. It was a foggy, rainy day, and that made spirits sink even deeper. He looked and saw a dark alleyway, he shrugged and strode in. Thinking that this would be the last place he would inspect before he left for his cozy cottage. He walked only a few more paces when he saw a young girl slumped against a wall. She was covered in cuts and bruises and looked very malnourished. Her dress was ripped and torn, and she was filthy. He was still staring in shock at the sight of her, when her eyes suddenly fluttered open. She looked at Switzerland questionably and her eyes narrowed slightly. She has beautiful eyes... He thought softly at the sight of them, so very deep and green... Her eyes reflected her current state of desperation, seemingly pleading with Switzerland. And even in his poor economy, he could not help but feel anxious for the girl's health. She did not look any older then thirteen years of age, and her youth was another cause for concern. He was still thinking to himself when, the girl gave a gentle sigh and he focused back on her. "Are you alright?" Was all the worried nation could say. The girl looked at him and spoke quietly, voice quivering just the slightest, " I... I think so." "Would you like come with me?I can get you some food, water, and a change of clothes." Switzerland said kindly, thinking only of the girl's needs. He held a hand toward her to help her up, and suddenly he remembered something he forgot to ask."And what is you name, little lady?" She smiled and grabbed his hand and stood up. She brushed her dress off and responded shyly, " Thank you. My name is Liechtenstein ." Switzerland blinked in surprise at this, "Your a nation like me." He said dumbly. Liechtenstein laughed at this, her voice ringing like bells, "Of course I am!" Switzerland felt a soft smile begin to tug at his lips and he gave a short chuckle. "I should have known! Well, I will take care of you, Liechtenstein." She wrapped her arms around Switzerland's waist and giggled again, "Thank you, brother!" Switzerland thought that comment over and decided that he liked being called brother.


End file.
